The Scent of Death
Page 19
Johann cast a desperate glance at his own arm, helpless in the mechanical grip, up the bronzed tubes to the complicated piping system he could see in the ceiling, now that he knew what he was looking at. Suddenly he felt himself being pushed again as the arms began to move to the doktor's delicate manipulations. His hand began to move forward.
"Oh, that's no good. I don't want you shooting me instead." His hand was eased back and up. "That's better. Slowly and surely. For this, I have time."
The doktor moved his mechanical arms in a careful arc so that the Luger was at no time aimed near him. Johann cursed silently. He could still have moved his finger enough to pull the trigger! He would not get another chance, and when the gun was in line with his own head, the doktor could simply squeeze until his fingers did his work, and if that failed, the giant hands were more than capable of taking a man apart limb by limb.
His hand was pointing almost straight upward now. All the doktor had to do was bend it enough to bring it to bear on his target. But Johann pulled the trigger now, again and again, the reports sharp and echoing in the large space.
The doktor jerked upright. "What are you doing--oh, you are cleverer than I thought, American! Wasting all your bullets before I can use them on you!" He shrugged. "As you wish. I have another gun." And he returned to his work.
Johann cast another agonized look at the ceiling. By his count he had one round left. The hands were still bending his arm inexorably toward him… He fired his last!
There was a sudden hissing form the ceiling, and the hands opened! As the doktor looked up in shock, Johann was already on the floor and barreling toward him! The doktor made a grab for the pistol but Johann beat him to it and swept the gun away.
The doktor came around the bench, arms spread. He was a powerfully-built man, and he came from the right, where Johann's arm had been so recently tortured. He moved like a soldier, implacable and overwhelming, but Johann moved like a dancer, ducking inside the doktor's guard to smash him in the nose.
The doktor cried out and retreated, and Johann leaped for the discarded Luger. The doktor ducked behind the workbench as Johann fired, and the shot careened away. The hissing from the ceiling was growing louder.
The two men darted and feinted, one unable to get a clear shot, the other unable to find better cover. The hissing overhead became a whistle.
"You've damaged the steam engine, you fool!" the doktor shouted. "It's going to explode!"
"Serves you right, Skorzos! It'll be a good taste of hell!"
Somewhere a door banged open. "Doktor! What's going on? Are you all right?"
"In here!" Skorzos shouted. "Help me!" He feinted to the right and tried to run to his left, but Johann was not fooled and fired again. The doktor jerked and fell.
Johann dropped his gun, turned and ran toward the other end of the warehouse where the voices were coming from.
"In here!" he called. "It's Johann! He's in here!" He began to stagger.
Several of the guards ran up and Johann pointed frantically back the way he had come. "I heard him calling but I couldn't find him! Hurry! I'll get help!"
As soon as they were past him, Johann abandoned the stagger and sprinted for the open door. He shut it behind him, bracing it with a piece of pipe lying on the ground. Then he ran.
Twelve seconds later, the world gave a lurch and he was thrown from his feet. When he regained them, the warehouse was nothing but a jagged low wall. Debris rained from the sky as he jogged away.
He stripped bits of his disguise from his face as he went, and Johann the sentry ceased to exist. Tomorrow, he would make his way to the next town down the road, whence he could catch a train to take him to Vienna.
After three years, Eric Reinhold was going home.
About the Author
Brian K. Lowe has been writing since he was a child, the same time during which he was devouring comic books and travelling to Mars with Edgar Rice Burroughs. A fan of pulp magazines and 1930s screwball comedies, he thinks he has a better grasp of life in Depression-era America than he does on the 21st century. He may be right. A graduate of UCLA, Brian lives in Southern California with his wife of 36 years. He works as a paralegal in the field of securities law. Write to him at brianklowewriter@aol.com, follow him on Twitter at @brianlowewriter, or check out his blog at http://brianklowe.wordpress.com.
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Books by Brian K. Lowe
The Stolen Future Trilogy
The Invisible City
The Secret City
The Cosmic City
The Adventures of Captain Swashbuckle
The Choking Rain
The Scent of Death
The Killing Scar (Winter, 2018)
Tales of Ieed
Once a Knight, A Tale of the Daze of Chivalry
Non-fiction (as Brian Lowe)
How to Know if Your Stockbroker is Ripping You Off -- and What You Can Do About It